Freedom in Strain

A few others had decided to cross the bridge as well. Most were fishing, while some trained or foraged for berries on nearby bushes.

“They’re just like me,” I muttered, laughing slightly to myself.

I distanced myself from the trail, searching for a place where I could be alone to focus on my training.

After strolling for a few minutes, I reached a relatively open, grassy area with girthy trees all around and took the hood off my head. I could still see the river from here, which was helpful not to get lost.

Unsure how to train, I just went with what felt right. I focused entirely on the weight of the spear in my hand and the gentle push of the breeze against my clothes.

My spear wasn’t suited for slashing. I would mostly have to rely on piercing attacks.

The constitution of the spear wasn’t solid either.

The makeshift shaft was too thin and bent at the end, light and uneven. The lack of balance forced constant adjustments.

I couldn’t really complain.

It was made on a whim and served its purpose quite well. Even though I wasn’t able to kill the spiky beast last time, the fault fell totally on my incompetence, not on the quality of the weapon.

I was still so weak. A chuckle escaped my parched mouth.

Always paying attention to my surroundings, I continuously made long and swift strides all while rapidly extending my spear.

Careful not to overexert my injured leg, I shifted my weight to match each strike.

To better my defence, I tried learning how to spin the spear around, whistling and swooshing as it slashed the air.

I repeatedly switched positions while twisting my weapon to defend both in front of and behind me.

Sweat trickled down my hair, stinging as it fell into my eyes.

Loud clacks resonated as my weapon got wedged in between the branches.

Errors like these would be fatal in battle, but keeping constant focus was incredibly difficult. My breathing had already turned ragged.

I alternated hands, testing ambidextrous movements. Using both hands improved sharpness but still felt awkward.

Using tree trunks as targets, I trained parrying with the shaft of the spear, twisting it to swiftly fence imaginary strikes.

I stabbed with enough torque to tear into the bark, its insides left open.

It sounded just like a fast-paced kendo duel, with the clatter of the wood clashing against the tree and the bark crunching when crushed.

The impacts sent vibrations up my arms. My body felt heavy with exhaustion.

Despite everything, I felt I was holding back.

The spear seemed more fragile than I had expected, cracking softly when too much force was applied or when striking in quick succession. Each snap sent a shiver down my spine.

I would need to get a better weapon sooner or later.

Even if I learnt magic, a spear could still be useful.

Its weight, however uneven, settled into my hands as if it belonged there. With a few tweaks to the build and better materials, it could turn its weaknesses into strengths and have a higher range of adaptability.

Training became an outlet for my pain. Everything that gnawed at my half-dead body turned into fuel, driving me to improve.

I lost myself in the training. My mind was cleansed of its usual thoughts, lighter than before, and my body merged with the spear.

Its cathartic effects put my mind at ease, even if only for brief moments.

It was relieving to have other things to think about.

The next thing I knew, the sun was setting. It was practically dusk already.

I didn’t know if the training improved my skills in any way, but my mind was at ease.

I felt lighter, freer, as if a weight had been lifted from my body.

I had been training for hours without rest.

My chest heaved with each breath.

My leg throbbed. I was hardly able to stand.

I would need to pace myself better next time. Perhaps I could combine this training with mana control in the future. However, it would be better to hold off on it for now.

The pressure had also affected my hands significantly.

While my left wrist and forearm hurt, and a tingling sensation lingered on my hand from the unusual strain, the right side of my body ached greatly.

My grip left small blisters, and sharp pain shot through my fingers and wrist. Each wiggle caused my hand to tremble. It was rather numb, and soreness spread up my arms to my shoulders.

I was completely drenched in sweat, despite my mantle feeling light and breathable, never restricting my movements.

I needed to wash myself by the river before heading back to the Old Man’s house.

I trod slowly towards the river, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the little strength I still had.

The usual evening ballad had begun. The bugs sang with their clicks and wheezes, echoing their melodies through the trees.

They melded with the splashes and trickles of the water, creating a pleasant jazzy groove.

Upon reaching the river, I looked to the other side, checking if there were people watching, and took off most of my clothes to scrub the sweat off my skin.

My wounds stung as water ran through them. The pain made me feel like I was finally moving again.

Looking back at the village, the houses strikingly resembled ancient rural Japanese homes, their roofs weighed down by large stones pressed against the wooden tiles.

Even parts of the interiors matched, though I hadn’t really noticed before, my mind too clouded with grief to take it in, completely missing the odd coincidence.

Without putting my shirt back on, which I had also rinsed, I threw the cloak over my body and began heading for the bridge, with the wet shirt in my left hand and the spear in my right.

My stomach growled.

I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Would the Old Man be worried that I didn’t show up to eat? He probably had more to think about than that, even though I was yet to discover what he did in the village.

As I crossed the bridge, I saw someone running all over the place.

It was already dim. I couldn’t make out what the person looked like from where I stood.

Reaching the other side, I stopped in place and tried my best to understand what was happening.

After a few seconds, the strange figure grew more familiar.

It was the Old Man.

I shouted, and he quickly turned, alarmed. As he neared, finally able to recognise me, the panic in his face melted into a long, shaking breath of relief.

Relief loosened my chest, and I smiled widely as I walked towards him.